Full text of "The universal Irish song book; a complete collection of the songs and ballads of Ireland .."

See other formats

mil'

IIP-

Class
Book_^i-iX^

// /oP^l

^/Iw^^^^

THE

UNIVERSAL

IRISH SONG BOOK;

A COMPLETE COLLECTION

OF THE

SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND

IXiX-TJ STIR A.TEI:) .

NEW YORK :

F. J. KENEDY, Publisher,

5 BARCLAY STREET.

188.1.

PREFACE.

The Publisher, in presenting this " Universal Irish Song
Book," confidently asserts, that in no other collection in Ire-
land or America will be found so many of the Songs of Ire-
land as in this volume.

It embodies all the standard songs of the different classes :
Amatory, National, Convivial, Martial and Sentimental mat
enthused or amused the Irish people in Ireland, and their
children, the Irish- Americans, for generations, and which will
always continue popular with them.

A selection of the best of that crude class mainly composed
in the last century by country school-masters and others
with a smattering of poetic taste, and which are generally de-
signated *' Come all Ye's," are included for the purpose of
satisfying the wishes of some parties who having heard them
in their youth, still retain a more pleasing recollection of
them than their literary merit warrants.

Notwithstanding the magnitude of the work and its com-
pleteness in detail, it is placed at a price that it is hoped will
cause it to supersede all the fractional collections heretofore

issued.

P. J. Kenedy..

New York, February, 1884.

THE

UNIVERSAL

Irish Song /Book.

c<?c.

ON MUSIC.

Air. — " Banks of JBanna."

When through life unblest we rove,

Losing all that made lite dear,
Should some notes we used to love,

In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh ! how w^elcome breathes the strain !

Wakening thoughts that long have slept,
Kindling former smiles again

In faded eyes that long have wept.

Like the gale, that sighs along

Beds of oriental flowers,
Is the grateful breath of song,

That once was heard in happier hours ;
Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on,

Though the flowers have sunk in death ;
So, when pleasure's dream is gone.

Its memory lives in Music's breath.

Music, oh how faint, how weak,

Language fades before thy spell !
Why should Feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so well ?
Friendship's balmy words may feign.

Love's are even more false than they ;
Oh ! 'tis only music's strain

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.

SONG OF THE BATTLE EYE.

AiK. — ' ' Oniiskeen Lawn. "

To-MORROW, comrade, we
On the battle-plain must be,

There to conquer, or both lie low !
The morning star is up —
But there's wine still in the cup,

And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go ;

We'll take another quaff ere we go.

'T is true, in manliest eyes

A passing tear will rise.

When we think of the friends we leave lone ;

But what can wailing do ?

See, our goblet's weeping too ! [our own !

With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy,
With its tears we'll chase away our own.

But daylight's stealing on ;

The last that o'er us shone

Saw our children around us play ;

The next — ah ! where shall we

And those rosy urchins be? [boy, away ;

But — no matter — grasp thy sword and away,
No matter — grasp thy sword and away !

Let those who brook the chain
Of Saxon or of Dane,

Ignobly by their firesides stay;
One sigh to home be given,
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, [hurra !

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra !

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra !

THE GKOVES OF BLAKNEY.

E. A. MiLLiKEN. Born, 1767 ; Died, 1815.

The groves of Blarney
They look so charming,
Down by the purling

Of sweet silent streams ;
Being banked with posies
That spontaneous grow there,
Planted in order

By the sweet rock close.
'Tis there's the daisy
And the sweet carnation,
The blooming pink,

And the rose so fair;
The daffodowndill}' —
Likewise the lily,
All flowers that scent

The sweet fragrant air.

'Tis Lady Jeffers

That owns this station ;

Like Alexander,

Or Queen Helen fair;
There's no commander
In all the nation,
For emulation,

Can with her compare.
Such walls surround her,
That no nine-pounder
Could dare to plunder

Her place of strength ;
But Oliver Cromwell,
Her he did pommell,
And made a breach

In her battlement.

There's gravel walks there.
For speculation,
And conversation

In sweet solitude.
'Tis there the lover
May hear the dove, or
The gentle plover

In the afternoon ;

THE GEOVES OF BhAB>l^EY.—Conti7iued.

And if a lady

Would be so engaging

As to walk alone in

Those shady bowers,
*Tis there the courtier
He may transport her
Into some fort, or

All under ground.

For 'tis there's a cave where
No daylight enters.
But cats and badgers

Are for ever bred ;
Being mossed by nature,
That makes it sweeter
Than a coach-and six.

Or a feather bed.
'Tis there the lake is.
Well stored with perches.
And comely eels in

The verdant mud ;
Besides the leeches.
And grove of beeches,
Standing in order

For to guard the flood.

There's statues gracing
This noble place in —
All heathen gods

And nymphs so fair :
Bold Neptune, Plutarch,
And Nicodemus,
All standing naked

In the open air !
So now to finish
This brave narration,
Which my poor geni

Could not entwine ;
But were I Homer,
Or Nebuchadnezzar,
Tis in every feature

I would make it shine.

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY.

Samuel Loveb.

Oh, there's not a trade that's going,

Worth showing,

Or knowing,

Like that from glory growing,

For a bowld sojer boy ;
Where right or left we go,
Sure you know,
Friend or foe
Will have the hand — or toe,

From a bowld sojer boy !
There's not a town we march through.
But the ladies, looking arch through
The window panes, will search through

The ranks to find their joy ;
While up the street,
Each girl you meet,
With look so sly,
Will cry
'' My eye !
Oh ! isn't he a darhng — the bowld sojer boy T*

But when we get the route,

How they pout.

And they shout.

While to the right about

Goes the bowld sojer boy 1
'Tis then that ladies fair.
In despair
Tear their hair.
But the div'la one I care.

Says the bowld sojer boy ;
For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,

But chalk us up with joy ;
We taste her tap.
We tear her cap,
'' Oh ! that's the chap
For me,"
Says she,
** Oh, isn't he a darling — the bowld sojer boy."

THE BOWLD SOJEE BOY.— Cojitinucd.

Then come along with me.

Gramachree,

And you'll see

How happy you will be

With your bow Id sojer boy ;
Faith, if you're up to fun,
With me run,
'Twill be done
In the snapping of a gun,

Says the bowld sojer boy ;
And 'tis then that without scandal
Myself will proudly dandle
The little farthing candle

Of our mutual flame, my joy ;
May his light shine
As bright as mine,
Till in the Hue
He'll blaze
And raise
The glory of his cause, like a bowld sojer boy !

-o

THE BANKS OF BANNA.

Et. Hon. Geoege Qgle.

Shepherds, I have lost my love,

Have you seen my Anna ?
Pride of every shady grove

Upon the banks of Banna.
I for her my home forsook.

Near yon misty mountain,
Left my flocks, my pipe, my crook,

Greenwood shade, and fountain.

Never shall I see them more

Until her returning ;
All the joys of life are o'er —

From gladness chang'd to mourning.
Whither is my charmer flown ?

Shepherds, tell me whither?
Ah ! woe for me, perhaps she's gone,

For ever and for ever !

BAENEY BRALLAGHAN'S COURTSHIP.

'TWAS on a windy night,

At two o'clock in the morning",
An Irish lad so tight,

All wind and weather scorning,
At Judy Callaghan's door,
Sittuig upon the palings.
His love-tale he did pour,
And this was part of his wailings —
Only say

You'll have Mister Brallaghan,
Don't say nay,

Charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh, list to w^hat I say.

Charms you've got like Venus ;
Own your love you may.

There's only the wall between us ;
You lie fast asleep,

Snug in bed and snoring,
Round the house I creep.

Your hard heart imploring.

Only say, &c.

Tve got nine pigs and a sow,

I've got a stye to keep 'em ;
A calf and a brindled cow,

And got a cabin to sleep in ;
Sunday hose and coat.

An old grey mare to ride on,
Saddle and bridle to boot,

Which you may ride astride on.

Only say, &c,

I've got an old Tom cat.

Thro* one eye he's staring ;
I've got a Sunday hat.

Little the worse for wearing ;
I've got some gooseberry wine —

The trees had got no riper ;
I've got a fiddle tine,

Which only wants a piper.

Only say, &c.

BAKNEY BEALLAGHAN S COV^RTSKIF,— Continued,

I've got an acre of ground,

I've got it set with praties ;
I've got of backey a pound,

And got some tay for the ladies ;
I've got the ring to wed,

Some whiskey to make us gaily,
A mattress, feather bed.

And handsome new shillelah.

Only say, &c.

You've got a charming eye,

You've got some spelling and reading ;
You've got, and so have I,

A taste for genteel breeding ;
You're rich, and fair, and young,
As everybody's knowing,
^ You've got a dacent tongue,
Whene'er 'tis set a going.

Only say, &c.

For a wife till death

I am willing to take ye —
But, och, I waste my breath.

The devil himself can't wake ye !
*Tis just beginning to rain,

So I'll get under cover;
I'll come to-morrow again,

And be your constant lover.

Only say, &c,
o

DEAK LAND.

When comes the day all hearts to weigh.

If staunch they be, or vile.
Shall we forget the sacred debt
We owe our mother isle ?
My native heath is brown beneath,

My native waters, blue ;
But crimson red o'er both shall spread.

Ere I am false to you,

Dear land —

Ere I am false to you.

DEAK JjA^D.— Continued.
When I behold your mountains bold —

Your noble lakes and streams —
A mingled tide of grief and pride

Within my bosom teems.
I think of all your long dark thrall —

Your martyrs brave and true ;
And dash apart the tears that start —

We must not weej? for you,

Dear land —

We must not weep for you.

My grandsire died, his home beside;

They seized and hanged him there;
His only crime, in evil time,

Your hallowed green to wear.
Across the main his brothers twain

Were sent to pine and rue ;
And still they turn'd, with hearts that burn'd,

In hopeless love to you

Dear land —

In hopeless love to you.

My boyish ear still clung to hear

Of Erin's pride of yore,
Ere Norman foot had dared pollute

Her independent shore :
Of chiefs, long dead, who rose to head

Some gallant patriot few.
Till all my aim on earth became

To strike one blow for you,

Dear land —

To strike one blow for you.

What path is best your rights to wrest

Let other heads divine ;
By work or word, with voice or sword,

To follow them be mine.
The breast that zeal and hatred steel.

No terrors can subdue ;
If death should come, that martyrdom

Were sweet, endured for you,

Dear land —

Were sweet, endured for you.

12
EKIN'S LOVELY HOME.

When I was young and in my prime, my age just twenty-one,
I acted as a servant unto a gentleman ;
1 served him true and honest, and very well its known,
But cruelly he banished me from Erin's lovely home.

The reason he did banish me, I mean to let you hear,
I own 1 loved his daughter, and she loved me as dear ;
She had a heavy fortune, but riches 1 had none.
And that's the reason 1 must go from Erin's lovely home.

It was in her father's garden, all in the month of June,
When viewing of those flowers, all in her youthful bloom.
She said, "My dearest William, if with me you will roam,
We'll bid adieu to all our friends, and Erin's lovely home."

That very night I gave consent along with her to go,
From her father's dwelling-place, which proved my overthrow ;
The night being bright, by the moonlight we both set off alone.
Thinking we'd got safe away from Erin's lovely home.

When we came to Belfast, by the break of day.

My true-love she got ready our passage for to pay,

Five thousand pound she counted down, saying this shall be

your own.
And never mourn for those you've left in Erin's lovely home.

But of our great misfortune, I mean to let you hear.

It was a few hours after her father did appear.

And marched me back to Omagh gaol, in the county of

Tyrone,
From there I was transported from Erin's lovely home.

When I heard my sentence, it grieved my heart full sore,
And parting from my true-love, it grieved me ten times more ;
I had seven links upon my chain, and every hnk a year,
Before I can return again to the arms of my dear.

Before the rout came to the gaol to take us all away,
Mv true-love came to me, and these words to me did say,
'' Bear up your heart, don't be dismayed, I will not vou disown,
Until you do return again to Erin's lovely home."

THE IRISH JAUNTING CAR.

My name is Larry Doolan, I'm a native of the soil ;
If you want a day's diversion, I'll drive you out in style;
My car is painted red and green, and on the door a star,
And the pride of Dublin City is my Irish jaunting car.

CHORUS.

Then, if you want to hire me, step in to Mickey Maher,
And ask for Larry Doolan and his Irish jaunting car.

When Queen Victoria came to Ireland her health to revive,
She asked the Lord Lieutenant to take her out to ride ;
She replied unto his greatness, before they travelled far,
How delightful was the jogging of the Irish jaunting car.
Then, if you want to hire me, &c.

I'm hired by drunken men, teetotalers, and my friends,
But a carman has so much to do, his duty never ends ;
Night and dav, both wet and dry, I travelled near and far,
And at night I count the earnings of my Irish jaunting car.
Then, if you want to hire me, Sec.

THE IKISH JAUNTING C An.— Continued.

Some say the Russian bear is tough, and I believe it's true,

Though we beat him at the Alma and Balaklava too ;

But if our Connaught Rangers would bring home the Russian

Czar,
I would drive him off to blazes in my Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you want to hire me, &c.

Some say all wars are over, and I hope to God they are ;
For, you know full well they ne'er were good for a jaunting

car ;
But peace and plenty— may they reign here, both near and

far ;
Then we drive to feasts and festivals in an Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you vVant to hire me, &c.

They say they are in want of men, the French and English,

too.
And it's all about their commerce now they don't know what

to do ;
But if they come to Ireland our jolly sons to mar,
I'll drive them to the devil in my Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you w^ant to hire me, &c.

-o-

CUSHLA MA CHKEE.*

From the Irish.

Before the sun rose at yester-dawn,
I met a fair maid adown the lawn ;

The berry and snow

To her cheek gave its glow.
And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan,
Then, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ?

Her beautiful voice more hearts hath won
Than Orpheus' lyre of old had done ;

Her ripe eyes of blue

Were crystals of dew,
On the grass of the lawn before the sun—
And, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ?

*Vein, or pnlse of my heart.

15
CATE OF ABAGLEN.

Air, •' An Cailin Ruadh."

When first I saw thee, Gate,
That summer evening late,
Down at the orchard gate

Of Araglen,
I felt I ne'er before
Saw one so fair, a-stor^
I fear'd I'd never more

See thee agen.
I stopp'd and gazed at thee.
My footfall, luckily
Reach'd not thy ear, the' we

Stood there so near ;
While from thy lips, a strain,
Soft as the summer rain,
Sad as a lover's pain,

Fell on my ear.

I've heard the lark in June,
The harp's wild plaintive tune,
The thrush, that aye too soon

Gives o'er his strain ;
Fve heard, in hush'd delight
The mellow horn at night
Waking the echoes light

Of wild Loch Lein ;
But neither echoing horn.
Nor thrush upon the thorn,
Nor lark at early morn

Hymning in air,
Nor harper's lay divine,
E'er witch'd this heart of mine
Like that sweet voice of thine,

That evening there.

And when some rustling, dear.
Fell on thy list'ning ear,
You thought your brother near,
And nam'd his name,

CATE OF ABAGIjEI^.— Continued.
I could not answer — though,
As luck would have it so,
His name and mine, you know,

Were both the same —
Hearing no answ'ring sound,
You glanced in doubt around.
With timid look and found

it was not he ;
Turning away your head
And, blushing rosy red,
Like a wild fawn you fled

Far, far from me.

The swan upon the lake,
The wild rose in the brake.
The golden clouds that make

The west their throne,
The wild ash by the stream,
The full moon's silver beam,
The evening star's soft gleam,

Shining alone ;
The lily rob'd in white —
All — aU are fair and bright: —
But ne'er on earth was sight

So bright, so fair,
As that one glimpse of thee
That I caught then, ma c/irce, *
It stole my heart from me

That evening there.

And now you're mine alone,
That heart is all my own —
That heart, that ne'er hath known

A flame before,
That form, of mould divine,
That snowy hand of thine.
Those locks of gold are mine

For evermore.
Was lover ever seen
As blest as thine, Caitlin?
Hath ever lover been
More fond, more true?

* My heart.

CEUISKIN LAWN.

Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,

The shepherd, his dew-scented lawn ;
But I, more bless'd than they,
Spend each happy night and day

With my charming Uttle cruiskin lazvn,

Gra-ma'Chree ma crtiiskiiiy
Slainte geal ma voiirneeji,

Gra-ina-chree a cooiin bawn,
Gra-ma-chrcc ma cruiskin^
Slainte geal ma vourneen,
Gra-ina-chree a cooiin^ bawn, bazvn^ baivn^

Gra-ma-chree a cooiin bawn.

Immortal and divine.

Great Bacchus, god of wine,

Create me by adoption your son.
In hope that you'll comply
That my glass shall ne'er run dry,
Nor my smiling little crniskin lazvn.

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

And when grim Death appears,
In a few but pleasant years.

To tell me that my glass has run ;
I'll say, begone, you knave.
For bold Bacchus gave me leave

To take another crniskin lazvn.

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

Then fill your glasses high.
Let's not part with lips adry,

Though the lark now proclaims it is dawn;
And since we can't remain.
May we shortly meet again,
To fill another crniskin lazvn,

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

18
GILLE MA CHEEE.

GEBAIiD GbLFFIN.

Gille ma chree*

Sit down by me,
We now are joined, and ne'er shall sever,

This hearth's our own,

Our hearts are one,
And peace is ours for ever !

When I was poor,
Your father's door
Was closed against your constant lover.
With care and pain,
I tried in vain
My fortunes to recover.
I said, * To other lands I'll roam.

Where fate may smile on me, love ;'
I said, * Farewell, my own old home!'
And I said, * Farewell to thee, love!'
Sing Gille ma chree^ &c.

I might have said,
My mountain maid.
Come live with me, your own true lover ;
I know a spot,
A silent cot.
Your friends can ne'er discover,
Where gently flows the waveless tide

By one small garden only ;
Where the heron waves his wings so wide,
And the linnet sings so lonely !
Sing Gille ma chree^ &c,

I might have said,

My mountain maid,
A father's right was never given

True hearts to curse

With tyrant force,
That have been blest in heaven.

* Brightener of my heart.

GttLE MA CRnEK-^Conlimied,

But Ihen, 1 said, "In after years,
"When thoughts of home shall find her !

My love may mourn with secret tears
Her friends, thus left behind her."
Sing Gt//e ma chree^ &c.

" Oh, no," I said,
" My own dear maid.
For me, though all forlorn for ever,
That heart of thine
Shall ne'er repine
O'er slighted duty — never.
From home and thee, though wandering far,

A dreary fate be mine, love ;
I'd rather live in endless war,
Than buy my peace with thine, love."
Sing Gille ma cJiree, <Scc.

Far, far away.

By night and day,
I toil'd to win a golden treasure ;

And golden gains

Repaid my pains
In fair and shining measure.
I sought again my native land,

Thy father welcomed me, love ;
I poured my gold into his hand.
And my guerdon found in thee, love.

Sing Gille ma chreey

Sit down by me.
We now are joined, and ne'er shall sever,

This hearth's our own,

Our hearts are one,
And peace is ours for ever !

THE BUGABOO.

Come, all you tender-hearted boys, wherever you may be,

And I'll tell you of the dangers upon the dark blue sea,

Of the dangers and the hardships, my boys, that 1 went

through,
When I shipped as cook and steward, my boys, on board of

the Bugaboo.

(Repeat the last two lines of each verse.)

The day when first 1 joined her, she lay in James street canal ;

She was large and stout and beautiful : forget her shape I nev-
er shall —

The captain wore a large stravy hat, knee breeches and a body
coat so blue,

Arrah ! boys, he'd made a fine figure-head to ornament the
Bugaboo.

We soon weighed anchor and set sail to plow the raging surf .
We were bound for the bog of Allan to get a load of turf,
We sailed until we passed the back of Richmond barracks so

true,
When the gallant eighty-fourth fired a royal salute of bricks

at the Captain of the Bugaboo.

We sailed three years, when a storm arose, and the sea ran

mountains high :
The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed and lit the dark blue

sky.
So the second mate gave orders to lower the sails and clew,
While the captain down below was smoking in his bed — he

set fire to the Bugaboo.

When the captain found what he had done he loud for help

did shout,
He called up through the chimney top for the helmsman to

come and put it out :
But the helmsman was fast asleep, and to his post untrue.
And the fire burned so hard through the middle of the turf,

they couldn't save the Bugaboo.

THE BVGABOO.—Contlmied.

When fifteen thousand miles from land, in latitude fiftj'-four,
The fire burned so hard one night, that it couldn't burn any

more ;
So the captain he gave orders to lower the boats and save

the crew,
While a thousand sods of turf and fifty thousand men were

smothered in the Bugaboo.

I'M A BANTING, KOVING BLADE.

By Samuel Lover.

Whoo ! I'm a ranting, roving blade.

Of never a thing was I ever afraid :

I'm a gentleman born, and scorn a trade,

And I'd be a rich man, if my debts were paid.

But my debts are worth something, this truth instil —
That pride makes us fall, all against our will :
For, 'twas pride that broke me — I was happy, until
I was ruined all out by my tailor's bill.

I'm the finest guide that ever you see,

1 know ev^ery place of curiosity,

From Ballinafad unto Tanderagee :

And if you're for sport, come along wid me.

I'll lade you sportin' round about :
We've wild ducks and widgeons, and snipe and throut,
And I know where they are, and what they are about,
And if they're not at home, then I'm sure they're out.

The miles in this country much longer be,
But that is a saving of time you see :
For, two of our miles is equal to three,
Which shortens the road in a great degree.

And the roads in this place is so plenty, we say,
That you have nothing to do, but find your own way :
If your hurry's not great, and you have time to delay,
You can go the short cut — that's the longest way.

22
THE lEISH 8H0BE.

By Una. (Mrs. A. Fokd. )

" 'Tis vain to hope, 'tis vain to dream,

Your land can never rise ;
With hate her children rend her heart,

While low in dust she lies;
Forget her wrongs" — so says the world,

As many did before.
But, Oh ! how can we e'er forget

Our dear old Irish shore ?

Can we forget the glorious host

Who scorned as slaves to live,
Who gave their lives to native land —

What more could mortal give ?
Or cease to venerate the soil

Made holy by their gore ?
Our hearts were clods, could we forget

Our dear old Irish shore —

Can we forget that on our brows

Is slavery's shameful brand —
That we are never truly free

While fetters bind our land —
That Freedom on us seems to frown

And murmur evermore :
** If true to me arise and free

Your own green Irish shore.'*

When we forget to ope our eyes

To meet the smile of day,
Forget to weep when those most dear

Are shrouded in the clay —
Forget to look with love and trust

To Him we now adore —
We may forget, but not till then.

Our dear old Irish shore.

THE IKISH SHORE,— Continued,

*Tis vain to dream, but not to toil,

O land we love, for thee ;
While hope remains and mem'ry lasts,

Our dearest wish must be,
For thee to labor, plan and pray,

And sleep, when life is o'er.
Beneath the sod that wraps thy breast,

Our green old Irish shore.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Once on a morning of sweet recreation,

I heard a fair lady a-making her moan,
With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation.
Aye singing, *' My Blackbird for ever is flown !
He's all my heart's treasure, my joy, and my pleasure,

So justly, my love, my heart follows thee ;
And 1 am resolved, in foul or fair weather,

To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.

**I will go, a stranger to peril and danger,

My heart is so loyal in every degree ;
For he's constant and kind, and courageous in mind,

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be !
In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved.

In England a stranger he seemeth to be ;
But his name I'll advance in Ireland or France.

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be.

"The birds of the forest are all met together.

The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove,
And I am resolved in foul or fair weather.

Once in the spring-time to seek out my love.
But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain,

Hath caused this parting between him and me.
His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame ?

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be."

IKISH SCHOOLMASTER.

Old Teddy O'Rourke kept a bit of a school

At a place called Clarina, and made it a rule,
If the mind wouldn't mark, faith, he'd soon mark the back,

And he'd give them their own, with a devilish crack.
His scholars were: Jerry, Big Billy and Ned,

With Murrogh M'Carthy, Old Darby, and Ted,
Tall Dermot O'Clany, and Dennis O'Shea,

Faith, all noble boys to drive learning away.

Spoken : Well, my boys, says old Ted, as 3'Ou are all here,
I'll just be calling your names over, to see if any of ye are
missing. Gerald M'Shee. — I'm not here, sir. — Then where
are you, agrah ? — I'm astride of the door, sir. — Then come in,
and I'll beat you. Corney O'Flaherty, — I'm here, but my
brother Barne}^ ain't. — Then where is your brother Barney ?
— Faith, sir, he's dead and they're going to wake him. — Poor
fellow ! I'm sorry he's gone HOME, for he was my own scholar ;
but do you go and sit down, and don't fall asleep, or I'll be
after waking you.

So long life to old Teddy,

For he's always read}'
To kick up a row, or the whiskey to smack:

With his drinking and eating.

His birching and beating.
And his hubaboo, philaloo, row de dow whack.

Faith, Ted had a nose as big as a ton.

And a chin too ! och honey, but they were all one ;
A grin too, he had, and if there was a noise.

He'd just give a squint and frighten the bo3'S ;
A fortune he had, too : — his birch and his -wig,

A black ugly cow, and an old dirty pig,
A PRATTY plantation, a dog and a cat.

And his head that he kept in an old greasy hat.

Spoken: Phelim O'Maheney, says he one day, before you
sit down, stand up and say your alphabet : so keep your five
fingers out of your head for a few minutes, and begin. What
letter's that, sir^ — I don't know, sir. — Arrah, botheration to
you, what was it 1 said when I saw you blacking Pat Mooney's

1:^ .."■.::i.n::::i!;..iii!i'-«

/
eye ?— Faith, sir, you said : Ah ! you big blackguard. — Well,
never mind the blackguard, but say Ah. — Ah. — Now, what
letter's that ? — Faith, sir, I don't know, you ought to know
better than me, — What makes the honey, and hold your
whist ? — B, — That's a good boy. Now, what kind of a half-
moon thing do you call that? — I don't know, sir. — Och !
botheration, what do I do with my eyes ? — He ! he ! he ! —
Well, what do you laugh at, sir ? 1 ask you what do I do with
my eyes ? — You ? you squint ! — and what else, sir ? — you see.
— That's a good boy. Now go on. — D-E-F-G-H. — Well, why
do you stop? — Because I can't go any further, sir. — What has
your mother got at the corner of her nose ? — A pimple, sir, —
Och, my service t'ye, sir ; and what else? — One eye. — Devil
take you and don't be getting into figures now. Say I,
without the one. — What's the next? — It's something, sir, but
I don't know what. — What does your mother open the door
with? — A string, sir, and sometimes her foot. — Well did you
never have anything else ? — Yes, sir, K. — That's a good boy ;
and now, as you have got to L, (hell )you may sit down and
warm yourself —

So long life to old Teddy, &c.

-o-

DESEKTEK'S MEDITATION.

By J. P. CUKEAN.

If sadly thinking, with spirits sinking,

Could more than drinking my cares compose,
A cure for sorrow from sighs I'd borrow,

And hope to-morrow would end my woes.
But as in wailing there's nought availing,

And Death unfailing will strike the blow.
Then for that reason, and for a season.

Let us be merry before we go !

To joy a stranger, a way-worn ranger,

In ev'ry danger my course I've run ;
Now hope all ending, and Death befriending.

His last aid lending, my cares are done :
No more a rover, or hapless lover.

My griefs are over — my glass runs low ;
Then for that reason, and for a season,

Let us be merry before we go !

SWEET CASTLE HYDE.

As I roved out on a summer's mornmg,

Down by the banks of Blackwater side,
To view the groves and the meadows charming,

And the pleasant gardens of Castle Hyde.
'Tis there you'll hear the thrushes warbling,

The dove and the partridge I now describe.
And lambkins sporting every morning,

All to adorn sweet Castle Hyde.

There are fine walks in those pleasant gardens.

And seats most charming in shady bowers.
The gladiator who is bold and daring,

Each night and morning does watch the flowers.
There's a road for service to this fine arbor.

Where the nobles in their coaches ride.
To view the groves and pleasant gardens,

That front the palace of Castle Hyde.

If noble princes from foreign places

Should chance to sail to our Irish shore,
*Tis in this valley they should be feasted,

Where often heroes had been before.
The wholesome air of this habitation

Would recreate your heart with pride :
There is no valley throughout this nation

In beauty equal to Castle Hyde.

There are fine horses and stall-fed oxes,

A den for foxes to play and hide,
Fine mares for breeding, and foreign sheep in

With snowy fleeces in Castle Hyde.
The grand improvements that there are making,

The trees all drooping with fruit beside.
The bees are humming the fields with music,

Which yields more beauty to Castle Hyde.

SWEET CASTLE UYDK—Conhnml

The richest groves throughout this nation,

And fine plantations you will see there,
The rose, the tulip, and the sweet briar,

All vying with the lily fair.
The buck and doe, the fox and eagle,

They skip and play by the river side,
The trout and salmon are always sporting

In the clear streamlets of Castle Hyde.

THE DEAK IKISH BOY.

My Connor, his cheeks are as ruddy as morning.
The brightest of pearls do but mimic his teeth ;
While nature with ringlets his mild brows adorning.
His hair Cupid's bow-strings, and roses his breath.

Smiling, beguiling,

Cheering, endearing.
Together how oft o'er the mountains we stray'd ;

By each other delighted.

And fondly united,
I have listened all day to my dear Irish boy.

No roebuck more swift could fly over the mountain,
No veteran bolder meet danger or scars.

He's sightly, he's sprightly, he's clear as the fountain,
His eyes beaming love, oh ! he's gone to the wars.

Smiling, beguiling, &c.

The soft tuneful lark, his notes changed to mourning,
The dark-screaming owl impedes my night's sleep,

While lonely I walk in the shade of the evening.
Till my Connor's return I will ne'er cease to weep.

Smiling, beguiling, &c.

The war being over, and he not returned,

I fear that some dark envious plot has been laid ;

Or that some cruel goddess has him captivated,
And left here to mourn his dear Irish maid.

Smiling, beguiling, &c.

THE CKOPPY BOY.

A Ballad of '98.

Caeeoll Malone.

The revolutionary party in Ireland of this period wore their hair short, like
the round-heads of Cromwell's day— hence the term "crop," or •« croppy." The
dramatic spirit of this ballad imparts to it a strange interest.

" Good men and true ! in this house who dwell,
To a stranger bouchal'^ I pray you tell
Is the priest at home ? or may he be seen ?
I would speak a word with Father Green."

" The priest's at home, boy, and may be seen ;
'Tis easy speaking with Father Green ;
But you must wait till I go and see
If the holy Father alone may be."

The youth has entered an empty hall —
What a lonely sound has his light foot-fall !
And the gloomy chamber's chill and bare,
With a vested priest in a lonely chair.

The youth has knelt to tell his sins :

^^ Nomine DeV the youth begins :

At " mea culpa^' he beats his breast,

And in broken murmurs he speaks the rest.

" At the siege of Ross did my father fall,
And at Gorey my loving brothers all.
I alone am left of my name and race ;
I will go to Wexfordf and take their place,

* Boy.
t The rebels made a desperate stand at Wexford, which was in their hands for
some time ; and there the sanguinary spirit of hoth parties was fearfully display-
ed. It was not the first time Wexford beheld a massacre, for Cromweli, in 1649,
placed a red letter before his name there in the page of history.

80
THE CKOPPY BOY.-^Gontinued,

" I cursed three times since last Easter day—
At mass-time once I went to play ;
I passed the churchyard one day in haste,
And forgot to pray for my mother's rest

" I bear no hate against living thing ;
But I love my country above my king.
Now, Father ! bless me, and let me go
To die, if God has ordained it so."

The priest said nought, but a rustling noise
Made the youth look up in wild surprise ;
The robes were off, and in scarlet there
Sat a yeoman captain with fiery glare.

With fiery glare and with fury hoarse,
Instead oi blessing, he breathed a curse , —
** *Twas a good thought, boy, to come here and shrive,
For one short hour is your time to live.

** Upon yon river three tenders float,*
The priest's in one if he isn't shot —
We hold his house for our Lord the King,
And, amen ! say I, ma)^ all traitors swing! '*

At Geneva Barrack f that young man died,
And at Passage tney have his body laid.
Good people who live in peace and joy.
Give a prajer and a tear for the Croppy Boy.

*Guard-ships were anchored off Wexford, which served as prisons for the cap-
iured rebels, or suspected persons,
t A military station in Wexford county.

THE lEISH GIKL.

One evening, as I strayed down the river's side,
Looking all around me, as an Irish girl I spied :
So red and rosy were her cheeks, and yellow was her hair,
And costly were the robes, which my Irish girl did wear.

Her shoes, of Spanish leather, were bound round with span-
gles gay :
The tears came down her crystal eyes, and she began to say :
'* Och, hone ! and, alas ! Astore Areen Machree,
Why should you go and leave me, and slight your own Molly ?

The first time that I saw my love, I was sick and very bad,
All the request I asked was that she might tie my head !
I asked her if one as bad as me could ever mend again —
For, love's a sore disorder — did you ever feel the pain ?

My love, she'll not come nigh me, for all the moan I make,
Nor either will she pity me, if my poor heart should break —
But was I of some noble blood, and she of low degree,
She would hear my lamentation, and come and pity me.

My only love is fairer than the lilies that do grow,
She has a voice that's clearer than any winds that blow:
She's the promise of this country, like Venus in the air
And let her go where'er she will, she's my joy and only dear !

Be it so or be it not, of her I take my chance :
The first time that I saw my love, she struck me in a trance —
Her ruby lips and sparkling eyes have so bewitched me
That, was 1 king of Ireland, queen of it she should be !

I wish T was a butterfly, on my love's breast I'd lie.

Or was I but a linnet, how I would sing and fly —

Or if I was a corn-creak, I'd sing till morning clear,

I would sit and sing for Molly — for, once I loved her dear!

If my love was a red rose in yonder garden fair,

And I to be the gardener, of her I would take care.

There's not a month throughout the year but my love would

renew :
With flowers fine I'd garnish, with Sweet-William, Thyme and
Rue.

THE IRISH GIRL.— Continued.

If I was in Monaghan, and sitting on the grass,
And in my hand a bottle, and on my knee a lass :
I'd call foV liquors plenty, and I'd pay before I go:
'' Come on, they say, my brave boys, let the wind blow
high or low !

-o-

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

By Samuel Lover.

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, when a child smile»
in its sleep it is " talking with the angels."

A BABY was sleeping,

Its mother was weeping.
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea.

And the tempest was swelling

Round the fisherman's dwelling,
And she cried, *' Dermot, darling, oh ! come back to me."

Her beads while she numbered,

The baby still slumbered.
And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee;

Oh ! bless'd be that warning.

My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

And while they are keeping

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping.
Oh, pray to them softly my baby, with me.

And say, thou would 'st rather

They'd watch o'er th)^ father !
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning.
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,

And closely caressing

Her child, with a blessing.
Said, '* I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

COME BACK TO EKIN.

Come back to Erin, Mavourneen, Mavourneen,

Come back, Aroon, to the land of my birth,
Come with the Shamrocks and spring-time, Mavourneen,

And its Killarney shall ring with our mirth.
Sure, when we lent you to beautiful England,

Little we thought of the lone winter days,
Little we thought of the hush of the Star shine

Over the mountains, the Bluffs and the Brays !

CHORUS.

Come back to Erin, Mavourneen, Mavourneen,
Come back again to the land of my birth.

Come back to Erin, Mavourneen, Mavourneen,
And its Killarney shall ring with our mirth.

Over the green sea, Mavourneen, Mavourneen,

Long shone the white sail that bore thee away.
Riding the white waves, that fair Summer mornin*,

Just like a May-flower afloat on the bay.
Oh ! but my heart sank when clouds came between us,

Like a gray curtain the rain falling down.
Hid from my sad eyes the path o'er the ocean.

Far, far away where my Colleen had flown.

Come back to Erin, &c.

Oh ! may the Angels, awakin' and sleepin'.

Watch o'er my bird in the land far away !
And it's my prayer will consign to their keepin'

Care o' my jewel, by night and by day ;
When by the fire-side, I watch the bright embers,

Then all my heart flies to England and thee,
Cravin' to know if my darlin' remembers.

Or if her thoughts may be crossin' to me.

Come back to Erin, &c.

84
EILEEN AKOON.

GeEALD GErPFIN.

When, like the early rose,
Eileen aroon !
Beauty in childhood blows ;

Eileen aroon !
When like a diadem,
Buds blush around the stem,
Which is the fairest gem ?
Eileen aroon !

Is it the laughing eye,

Eileen aroon !
Is it the timid sigh,

Eileen aroon !
Is it the tender tone,
Soft as the string'd harp's moan ?
Oh, it is truth alone,

- Eileen aroon !

When, like the rising day,
Eileen aroon !

Love sends his early ray,
Eileen aroon !

What makes his dawning glow

Changeless through joy or woe ?

Only the constant know —
Eileen aroon !

I know a valley fair,

Eileen aroon !

I knew a cottage there,

Eileen aroon !

Far in that valley's shade,

I knew a gentle maid.

Flower of a hazel glade,

Eileen aroon !

Who in the song so sweet?

Eileen aroon !
Who in the dance so fleet ?

Eileen aroon !

EILEEN KROO^.— Continued.

Dear were her charms to me,
Dearer her laughter free,
Dearest her constancy,

Eileen aroon !

Were she no longer true,
Eileen aroon !

What should her lover do?
Eileen aroon !

Fly with his broken chain

Far o'er the sounding main.

Never to love again,

Eileen aroon !

Youth must with time decay,
Eileen aroon !

Beauty must fade away,

Eileen aroon !

Castles are sacked in war.

Chieftains are scattered far,

Truth is a fixed star,

Eileen aroon !

BRICKEEN BRIDGE.

THE COW ATE THE PIPER

Tn the year '98, when our troubles were great,

And it was treason to be a Milesian :
That black whiskered set we will never forget,

Tho' history tells us they were Hessian,
In this troublesome time, oh ! 'twas a great crime,

And murder never was riper —
At the side of Glenshee, not an acre from me,

There lived one Denny Byrne a piper.

Neither wedding nor wake would be worth a shake,

Where Denny was not first invited :
At squeezing the bags and emptying the kegs

He astonished as well as dehghted.
In these times poor Denny could not earn one penny,

Martial law had him stung like a viper :
They kept him within till the bones and the skin

Were grinning through the rags of the piper.

One evening in June as he was going home,

After the fair of Rathangan,
What should he see from the branch of a tree,

But the corpse of a Hessian there hanging —
Says Denny : ** these rogues have boots, I've no brogues — "

On the boots then he laid such a griper,
He pulled them with such might, and the boots were so tight,

That legs and boots came away with the piper.

Then Denny did run, for fear of being hung,

Till he came to Tim Kennedy's cabin ;
Says Tim, from within : '' I can't let you in,

You'll be shot if you're caught there a rapping.**
He went to the shed, where the cow w^as in bed,

With a wisp he began for to wipe her :
They laid down together, on a seven foot feather.

And the cow fell a hugging the piper.

37
THE COW ATE THE mTER.— Continued.

Then Denny did yawn as the day did dawn,

As he streeled off the boots of the Hessian,
The legs by the law he left them on the straw,

And he gave them leg-bail for his mission.
When the breakfast was done, Tim sent out his son,

To make Denny jump up like a lamplighter :
When the legs there he saw, he roared like a jack-daw :

'* Oh ! daddy, the cow's ate the piper ! "

" Musha bad luck to the beast — she'd a musical taste

For to eat such a beautiful chanter:
Arrah ! Patrick avic, take a lump of a stick.

Drive her off to Glenhealy — we'll cant her."
Mrs. Kennedy bawled, the neighbors were called:

They began for to humbug and gibe her:
To the church-yard Tim walked with the legs in a box,

And the cow will be hung for the piper.

The cow she was drove a mile or two off,

To the fair at the side of Glenhealy.
And there she was sold for four guineas in gold

To the clerk of the parish, Tim Daley.
They went to a tent, the lucky penny was spent,

The clerk being a jolly old swiper :
Who d'ye think there was there, playing the "Rakes of Kil-
dare ?"

But poor Denny Byrne, the piper !

Then Tim gave a bolt, like a half-drunken colt,

At the piper he gazed like a gommock —
He said : "By the powers ! I thought these eight hours

You were playing in Driman Dhu's stomach."
Then Denny observed how the Hessian was served,

And they all wished their necks secured to the griper,
For grandure they met, their whistles they wet.

And like devils they danced round the piper.

38
THE GALLANT HUSSAR.

A DAMSEL possessed of great beauty,

She stood by her own father's gate :
The gallant Hussars were on duty,

To view them this maiden did wait.
Their horses were capering and prancing,

Their accoutrements shone like a star ;
From the plains they were nearer advancing,

She espied her young gallant Hussar.

Their pelisses were slung o'er their shoulders,

So careless they seemed for to ride :
So warlike appeared those young soldiers,

With glittering swords by their side ;
To the barracks next morning so early.

This damsel she went in her car,
Because that she loved him sincerely —

Young Edward, the gallant Hussar.

It was there she conversed with her soldier,

These words they were heard for to say —
Said Jane : *' I've a heart none more bolder,

For to follow my laddy away,"
**0h fiel" said young Edward, " be steady.

And think of the dangers of war,
When the trumpet sounds I must be ready^

So wed not your gallant Hussar."

*' For twelve months on bread and cold water,

My parents confined me for you :
Oh ! hard-hearted friends to their daughter.

Whose heart it is loyal and true :
Unless they confine me for ever.

Or banish me from you afar,
I will follow my soldier so clever.

To wed with my gallant Hussar."

Said Edward : ** Your friends you must mind them,

Or else you are for ever undone :
They will leave you no portion behind them.

So pray do my company shun."

89
THE GALLANT BJJSSAK— Continued,

She said : " If you will be true hearted,
I have gold of my uncle's in store :

From this time no more we'll be parted,
I will wed with my gallant Hussar."

As he gazed on each beautiful feature.

The tears they did fall from each eye :
** I will wed with this beautiful creature,

To forsake cruel war," he did cry.
So now they're united together,

Friends think of them now they're afar.
Crying : ** Heaven bless them now and for ever,

Young Jane and her gallant Hussar."

-0-

CUSHLA MA CHREE.

John Philpot Curean.
Air, *' The Bank of Green Kushes."

Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises,

An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes,

Thou queen of the west, the world's cushla ma chree,*
Thy gates open wide to the poor and the stranger —

There smiles hospitality, hearty and free ;
Thy friendship is seen in the moment of danger.

And the wand'rer is welcomed with cushla ma chree.

Thy sons they are brave ; but, the battle once over,

In brotherly peace with their foes they agree.
And the roseate cheeks of thy daughters discover

The soul-speaking blush that says, cushla ma chree.
Then, flourish for ever, my dear native Erin,

While sadly I wander, an exile from thee.
And, firm as thy mountains, no injury fearing.

May Heaven defend its own cushla ma chree!

* Pulse of my heart.

40
SOGGAKTH AKOON.

John Banim. Born, 1798. Died, 1842.

Am 1 the slave they say,

Soggarth aroon ? *
Since you did show the way,

Soggarth aroon,
Their slave no more to be,
While they would work with me
Ould Ireland's slavery,

Soggarth aroon?

Why not her poorest man,

Soggarth aroon.
Try and do all he can,

Soggarth aroon.
Her commands to fulfil
Of his own heart and will.
Side by side with you still,

Soggarth aroon ?

Loyal and brave to you,

Soggarth aroon,
Yet be no slave to you,

Soggarth aroon, —
Nor, out of fear to you,
Stand up so near to you —
Och ! out of fear to you !

Soggarth aroon !

Who, in the winter's night,

Soggarth aroon,
When the cowld blast did bite,

Soggarth aroon,
Came to my cabin-door.
And, on my earthen-flure
Knelt by me, sick and poor,

Soggarth aroon ?

* Priest dear.

41
SOGGAKTH A'ROOl^.— Continued.

Who, on the marriage-day,

Soggarth aroon,
Made the poor cabin gay,

Soggarth aroon —
And did both laugh and sing,
Making our hearts to ring,
At the poor christening,

Soggarth aroon ?

Who, as friend only met,

Soggarth aroon,
Never did flout me yet,

Soggarth aroon ?
And when my hearth was dim.
Gave, while his eye did brim,
What I should give to him,

Soggarth aroon?

EOBIN ADAIK.

What's this dull town to me ? Robin's not near.
What was't I wished to see ? what wished to hear ?
Where's all the joy and mirth made this town heaven on earth?
Oh ! they're all fled with thee, Robin Adair !

What made the assembly shine ? Robin Adair !

What made the ball so fine ? Robin was there !

What, when the play was o'er, what made my heart so sore?

Oh ! it was parting with Robin Adair !

But now thou'rt cold to me, Robin Adair !

Yet he I loved so well, still in my heart shall dwell !

Oh ! I can ne'er forget Robin Adair.

COLLEEN EUE.

As I roved out one summer's morning, speculating most cu-
riously,

To my surprise, 1 soon espied, a charming fair one approaching
me ;

I stood awhile in deep meditation, contemplating what
should I do,

But recruiting all my sensations, I thus accosted the Colleen
Rue:—

Are you Aurora, or the beauteous Flora, Euterpasia, or Venus

bright,
Or Helen fair, beyond compare, that Paris stole from her

Grecian's sight,
Thou fairest creature, j^ou have enslaved me, I am intoxicated

by Cupid's clue.
Whose golden notes and infatuation, deranged my ideas for

you — Colleen Rue.

Kind sir, be easy, and do not tease me, with your false praise

so jestingly.
Your dissimulations and invitations, your fantastic praises,

seducing me,
I am not Aurora, or the beauteous Flora, but a rural maiden

to all men's view.
That's here condoling my situation, and my appellation is the

Colleen Rue.

Was I Hector, that noble victor, who died a victim of Grecian
skill.

Or was I Paris, whose deeds were various, as an arbitrator
on Ida's hill,

I would roam through Asia, likewise Arabia, through Pennsyl-
vania seeking you,

The burning regions, like famed Vesuvius, for one embrace of
the Colleen Rue.

Sir, I am surprised and dissatisfied, at your tantalizing inso-
lence,

I am not so stupid, or enslaved by Cupid, as to be duped by
your eloquence ;

Therefore desist from your solicitations, lam engaged, I
declare 'tis tru^,

To a lad I love, beyond all earthly treasures, and he'll soon
embrace his Colleen Rue.

THE FOUE-LEAVED SHAMKOCK.

Samuel Lovek.

A four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to endue the find-
er with magic power.

I'LL seek a four-leaved Shamrock in all the fairy dells.

And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my

spells !
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold,
For treasure tires the weary sense, — such triumph is but cold ;
But I would play the enchanter's part, in casting bliss

around, —
Oh ! not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found.

To worth I would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears,

And to the paUid lip recall the smile of happier years ;

And hearts that had been long estrang'd, and friends that had

grown cold,
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old !
Oh ! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss

around.
And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found !

The heart that had been mourning o'er vanish'd dreams of

love
Should see them all returning, — like Noah's faithful dove,
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's dark'n-

ing sea.
And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be ;
Oh ! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss

around,
And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found.

THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW.

PEETTY GIBL MILKING HEK COW.

'TWAS on a bright morning in summer,

I first heard his voice spakm* low,

As he said to a colleen beside me :

" Who's that purty girl milking her cow ? "

Oh ! many times afther ye met me,

An' vowed that I always should be

Your darhn' a Cushla, Alanna Mavourneen.

A Suilish Machree.

I haven't the manners or graces
Of the girls in the world where ye move,
I haven't their beautiful faces —
But oh ! I've a heart that can love :
If it plaise ye, I'll dress me in satin.
An' jewels I'll put on my brow —
But, oh! don't be afther forgettin*
Your purty girl milking her cow.

-o-

I BEEATHE ONCE MOEE MY NATIVE AIE.

I BREATHE once more my native air.
And hail each happy, happy scene.

That rises round me everywhere,
As tho' I left but yester e'en.

CHORUS. — Oh ! how I love thee Erin dear —

When roaming on a foreign strand.
In fancy still my steps were here —

Home of my heart, my native land)
In fancy still my steps were here,
Home of my heart, my native land !

I've found the home so fondly sought.
And weep — but these are joyous tears !

The rapture of a moment bought
My long and weary abse^nt years.

Oh ! how I love thee, &c.

PADDY HAGEKTY'S OLD LEATHER BREECHES.

At the sign of the Bell, on the road to Clonmel,

Paddy Hagerty kept a nate shebeen:
He sold pig's-meat and bread, and had a fine lodging bed.

And so well liked round had he been.
Himself and his wife, they struggled through life :

On week days, Pat mended the ditches.
But on Sunday he dressed in a coat of the best,

But his pride was his old Leather Breeches.

For twenty -one years or so, it appears

His father these breeches had run in,
The night that he died, to his bed-side

Called Paddy, his beautiful son, in.
The advice that he gave, ere he went to his grave,

Was for him to take care of his riches ;
Says he : " It's no use to walk in my shoes.

But I pray you jump into my Breeches."

Last winter's snow laid provisions low.

That Paddy was ate out completely.
And the snow coming down, he could not get to town,

So the hunger bothered him greatly,
One night as he lay dreaming away

Of big dogs, frogs and witches,
He heard an uproar just outside of his door,

And got up for to pull on his Breeches.

Says Brian McGurk, with the voice of a Turk:

** Now, Paddy, come get us some eating,"
Says big Andy Moore: ** Fll burst open the door:

For, this is no night to be waiting."
Just as they spoke, the door in was broke.

They crowded round Paddy like leeches,
They swore by Magog, that if he did not get them prog,

That they would eat him right out of his Breeches.

PADDY HAGERTY'S OLD LEATHER BREECHES.

Continued.

Paddy in dread slipped into bed,

That held Judy, his own darling wife, in,
Where he quickly agreed for to get them a feed,

And he out and brought a big knife in.
He took up the waist of his breeches, the beast.

And cut off the buttons and stitches.
Then cut them in stripes, by the way, they were tripes.

And he boiled them his old Leather Breeches.

When the Breeches were stewed, on a dish they were strewed,

The boys all cried out — Lord-be-thanked !
But Hagerty's wife, in dread of her life,

She thought it high time for to shank it :
The boys they all smiled : for, they thought Pat had boiled

Some mutton or beef of the richest ;
But little they knew it was leather burgoo.

Made of Paddy's old worn-out Breeches.

They walloped the stuff; says Darby ; '* It's tough."

Says Pat : '* You're no judge of good mutton."
When Briny McGurk, on the point of a fork.

Lifted up a big ivory button.
Says Andy ; •* What's that? I thought it was fat."

Brian jumps on his legs, and he screeches :
** By the powers above ! I'm striving to shove

My teeth through the flap of his Breeches."

They all made at Pat, he was gone out of that ;

For, he ran when he saw them all rising.
Says Darby ; " Make haste, and go for the priest

By the holy jack-straws ! I am poisoned."
In revenge for the joke, they up and they broke

All the chairs, tables, and dishes ;
And ever since that night, they'll knock out your day light,

If they catch you with the old Leather Breeches.

JOHNNY, I HAEDLY KNEW YE.

When on the road to old Athy, ahoo,
The harvest moon was in the sky ;
I heard a dolorous damsel cry :
Och ! Johnny, I hardly knew ye !

Chorus.

Wid drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy fairly slew ye ;
My darling dear, you look so queer ;
Och ! Johnny, I hardly knew ye !

Where is your nose, ye pitiful crow, ahoo ?
Ye had it when ye went to scatter the foe ;
The loss of it has disfigured ye so :
Och ! Johnny, 1 hardly knew ye !

Chorus.

Where is your eye that looked so wild, ahoo.
When my poor heart ye first beguiled ?
Why did you skedaddle from me and the child ?
Och ! Johnny, I hardly knew ye !

Chorus.

It broke my heart to see you sail, ahoo,
And seeing ye here would raise a wail,
The cut in your head would embellish a tale —
Och ! Johnny, 1 hardly knew ye !

Chorus.

Yez haven't an arm and yez haven't a leg,
Ye're an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg ;
Ye'U have to be put with a bowl to beg ;
Och ! Johnny, I hardly knew ye !

Chorus.

But sad as it is to see you so, ahoo.
And to think of you now as an object of woe ;
Your Peggy will still keep you on as her beau,
Though, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.

Chorus.

49 r"

O'DONNELL ABU!

A. D. 1597-By. M. J. M'Oann. Esq.

Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding,

Loudly the war-cries arise on the gale,
Fleetly the steed by Lough Sw-illy is bounding,
To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's green vale.
On, every mountaineer,
Strangers to flight and fear !
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh !
Bonaght and Gallowglass
Throng from each mountain-pass !
On for old Erin — 0*Donnell abu!

Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing,

With many a chieftain and warrior-clan :
A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing,
'Neath the borders brave from the banks of the Bann-
Many a heart shall quail
Under its coat of mail :
Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue,
When on his ear shall ring,
Borne on the breeze's wing,
Tyrconnell's dread war-cry — O'Donnell abu ?

Wildly o*er Desmond the war- wolf is howling.

Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain,
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling —

All, all who would scare them are banished or slain !
Grasp, every stalwart hand,
Hackbut and battle-brand —
Pay them all back the deep debt so long due :
Norris and Clifford well
Can of Tyrconnell tell —
Onward to glory — O'Donnell abu !

Sacred the cause that Clan-Conaill's defending —
The altars we kneel at, and homes of our sires :

Ruthless the ruin the foe is extending —
Midnight is red with the plunderer's fires !

O'DONNELL ABV.— Continued,

On, with O'Donnell, then !

Fight the old fight again,
Sons of Tyrconnell all valiant and true !

Make the false Saxon feel

Erin's avenging steel !
Strike for your country ! — O'Donnell abu !

-0-

NED OF THE HILL.

By Samuel Lovee.

Dark is the evening, and silent the hour,
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tower ?
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill ;
Oh, who should it be, but Ned of the Hill?
Who sings, " lady love, come to me now,
Come and live merrily under the bough,

And I'll pillow thy head.

Where the fairies tread,
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill ! "

Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall.

Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call;

But one little archer, of exquisite skill,

Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill,

Who sings, " lady love, come to me now.

Come and live merrily under the bough,

And I'll pillow thy head.

Where the fairies tread.
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!"

'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower,
For high is the window, and guarded the tower;
** But there's always a 7vaj/ w^here there is a wi//, '
So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill !
Who sings, " lady love, thou art mine now !
We will live merrily under the bough.

And I'll pillow thy head.

Where the fairies tread.
For Ellen is wed to Ned of the Hill ! "

THE IKISH STRANGER.

O, PITY the fate of a poor wretched creature,

That has wander'd thus far from his home,

1 sigh for protection from want, woe, and danger,

But I know not which way for to roam ;

I ne'er shall return to Hibernia's green bowers.

Where tyranny has trampled our sweetest of flowers,

They gave comfort to me in my loneliest hour,

But they're gone — I shall ne'er see them more.

With wonder I gaz'd on that high, lofty mountain.

As in grandeur it rose from its lord,

And with sorrow beheld my own garden yielding

The choicest of fruits for its board.

But where is my father's low cottage of clay,

Where I've spent many a long happy day ?

Alas ! has his lordship contriv'd it away ?

Yes, 'tis gone — I shall ne'er see it more.

When the sloe and the berry hung ripe on the bushes,

I have gather'd them off without harm,

And I've gone to the fields where I've seen the green bushes,

Preparing for winter's cold storm ;

I have sat by the fire on a cold winter's night.

Along with my friends, telling tales of delight.

Those days gave me pleasure, and I could invite,

But they're gone — I shall ne'er see them more.

O ! Erin, sad Erin, it grieves me to ponder.

The wrongs of thine injured Isle,

Thy sons, many thousands, deploring do wander.

On shores far away, in exile.

But give me the power to cross o'er the main,

America might yield me some shelter from pain,

I'm only lamenting while here I remain.

For the joys I shall never sec more.

THE IBISH BTBA-^GEK—Contmued.

Farewell, men of Erin, and those I left weeping

Upon this disconsolate shore,

Farewell to the grave where my father lies sleeping

That ground I still dearly adore.

Farewell to each pleasure — I once had a home,

Farewell— now astranger in England I roam,

O give me my freedom, or give me my tomb,

Friends, in pity— I'll ask for no more.

-o-

THE DAWNING OF THE DAY.

At early dawn I once had been

Where Lene's * blue waters flow,
When summer bid the groves be green,

The lamp of light to glow —
As on by bower, and town, and tower,

And wide-spread fields I stray,
I meet a maid in the greenwood shade.

At the dawning of the day.

Her feet and beauteous head were bare,

No mantle fair she wore,
But down her waist fell golden hair

That swept the tall grass o'er ;
With milking-pail she sought the vale,

And bright her charms' display,
Outshining far the morning star,

At the dawning of the day !

Beside me sat that maid divine,

Where grassy banks outspread —
" Oh, let me call thee ever mine,

Dear maid," 1 sportive said.
" False man, for shame, why bring me blame ?"

She cried, and burst away —
The sun's first light pursued her flight,

At the dawning of the day !

* Lene, Killarney.

GOD SAVE lEELAND.

High upon the gallows tree,

Swung the noble-hearted three,
By the vengeful tyrant stricken in their bloom.

But they meet him face to face.

With the spirit of their race.
And they went with souls undaunted to their doom.

God save Ireland ! said the heroes,

God save Ireland! said they all.

Whether on the scaffold high,

Or the battle field we die,
Oh ! what matter, when for Erin dear we fall !

Girt around with cruel foes,

Still their courage proudly rose.
For they thought of hearts that loved them far and near.

Of the millions true and brave,

O'er the ocean's sweUing wave.
And the friends in holy Ireland, ever dear.

God save Ireland ! said they proudly,

God save Ireland ! said they all,

Whether on the scaffold high.

Or the battle field we die,
Oh ! what matter, when for Erin dear we fall !

Climb they up the rugged stair, ^

Rung their voices out in prayer.
Then, with England's fatal cord around them cast.

Close beneath the gallows tree,

Kissed like brothers lovingly,
True to home, and faith, and freedom to the last.

God save Ireland ! said they proudly,

God save Ireland ! said they all,

Whether on the scaffold high.

Or the battle field we die,
Oh ! what matter, when for Erin dear we fall !

55
GOD SAVE mELA:^D.— Continued.

Never till the latest day,

Shall the memory pass away,
Of the gallant lives thus given for our land ;

But on the cause must go,

Amidst joy, or weal or woe.
Till we've made our isle a nation, free and grand.

God save Ireland ! say we proudly,

God save Ireland ! say we all,

If upon the scaffold high,

Or the battle field we die,
Oh ! what matter, when for Erin dear we fall !

-o-

THE BOYS OF KILKENNY,

Air, " Meeting of the Waters."

Oh ! the boys of Kilkenny are nate roving blades.
And whenever they meet with the dear little maids.
They kiss them, and coax them, and spend their money free ;
Oh ! of all towns in Ireland, Kilkenny for me.

Oh ! of all towns, &c.

Through the town of Kilkenny there runs a clear strame.
In the town of Kilkenny there lives a fair dame.
Her cheeks are like roses — and her lips much the same —
Or a dish of ripe strawberries smothered in crame.

Or a dish, &c.

Her eyes are as black as Kilkenny's famed coal,
And 'tis they through my heart have burnt a big hole ;
Her mind, like its river, is deep, clear, and pure.
But her heart is more hard than its marble I'm sure.

But her heart, &c.

Oh ? Kilkenny's a fine town that shines where it stands,
And the more I think on it the more my heart warms ;
If I was in Kilkenny I'd feel quite at home.
For it's there I'd get sweethearts, but here I get none.

For its there, &c.

THE WEXFORD HEROES.

Come, all you warriors and renowned nobles,
Give ear, I pray, to my warlike theme ;

And I will sing how Father Murphy
Lately aroused from his sleepy dream.

Sure Julius Caesar, nor Alexander,

Nor brave king Arthur ever equalled him ;
For armies formidable he did conquer,

Though with two gunsmen he did begin.
Camolin cavalry he did unhorse them ;

Their first lieutenant he cut him down :
With shattered ranks, and with broken columns,

They retreated home to Camolin town.

On the hill of Oulart, he displayed his valor,

Where a hundred Corkmen lay on the plain;
At Enniscorthy his sword he wielded,

And I hope he'll do it once more again.
The loyal townsmen gave their assistance ;

** We'll die or conquer," they all did say :
The yeoman cavalry made no resistance,

For on the pavement their corpses lay:

When Enniscorthy became subject to him,

'Twas then to Wexford we marched our men,
It's on the Three Rocks we took up our quarters,

Waiting for daylight the town to win :
With drums a-beating the town did echo,

And acclamations from door to door :
On the Windmill hill we pitched our tents.

And we drank like heroes, but paid no score.

On Corrig-Rua for some time we waited,
And next for Gorey we did repair ;

At Tubberneering, we thought no harm,
The bloody army was waiting there.

57
THE WEXFOED HE^O^S.— Continued.

The issue of it was a close engagement,

While on the soldiers we played warlike pranks :

Through sheep-walks, hedge-rows, and shady thickets,
There were mangled bodies and broken ranks.

The shuddering cavalry, I can't forget them ;

We raised the brushes on their helmets straight ;
They turned about, and they bid for Dublin,

As if they ran for a ten pound plate.
Some crossed Donnybrook, and more through Blackrock,

And some up Shank-hill without wound or flaw.
And if Barry Lawless be not a liar.

There's more went grousing up Luggielaw.

The streets of England were left quite naked

Of all its army both foot and horse;
The Highlands of Scotland were left unguarded,

Likewise the Hessians, the seas they crossed.
To the Windmill hill of Enniscorthy,

The British fencibles they flew like deers ;
And our ranks were tattered and sorely scattered.

By the loss of Kyan and the Shelmaliers.

But if the Frenchmen they had reinforced us.

Landed their transports in Bagenbun,
Father John Murphy would be their seconder.

And sixteen thousand along with him come :
Success attend the sweet county Wexford,

Threw ofiF its yoke, and to battle run :
Let them not think we gave up our arms,

For every man has a pike or gun.

THE EMIGKANT'S FAEEWELL TO BALLYSHANNON.

Adieu to Ballyshannon, where I was bred and born ;
Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn ;
The kindly spot, the friendly town, where everyone is known,
And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own.
There's not a house or window, there's not a field or hill,
But East or West, in foreign lands, I'll recollect thee still ;
1 leave my warm heart with you, though my back I'm forced'

to turn.
So adieu to Ballyshannon and the winding banks of Erne.

No more on pleasant evenings we'll saunter down the Mall,
When the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon to the fall:
The boat comes straining on the net, and heavily she creeps,
Cast off ! cast off ! she feels the oars, and to her berth she

sweeps ;
Now stem and stern keep bawling, and gathering up the clue,
Till a silver wave of salmon rolls in among the crew ;
Then they may sit and have their joke, and set their pipes to,

burn.
Adieu to Ballyshannon and the winding banks of Erne.

The music of the w^aterfall, the mirror of the tide,
When all the green hill'd harbor is full from side to side.
From Portnason to Ballybawns, and round the Abbey Bay ;
From the little rocky island to Coolnargit's sandhills gray,
While far upon the southern line, to guard it like a wall.
The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue, gaze calmly over all :
And watch the ship sail up and down, the red flag at her

stern.
Adieu to those, adieu to all, the winding banks of Erne.

Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, and them that pull the oar;
A lug-sail set, or haul a net, from the Point to MuUaghmore :
From Killybegs to Carrigan, with its ocean mountain steep.
Six hundred yards in air aloft, six hundred in the deep :
From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, and round by TuUan strand.
Level and long, and white with waves, where gull and curlew

stand.
Head out to sea, when on the lea, the breakers you discern.
Adieu to all the billowy coast and winding banks of Erne.

THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE.

THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL TO BALLYSHANNOI^ .

Continued,

Farewell to you, Bundoran and the summer crowds that run
From inland homes to see with joy the Atlantic's setting sun ;
To breath the buoyant, salted air, and sport among the

waves ;
To gather shells on sandy beach, and tempt the gloomy

caves :
To watch the flowing, ebbing tide — the boats, the crabs, the

fish :
Young men and maids to meet and smile, and form a tender

wish;
The sick and old in search of health — for all things have their

turn,
And I must quit my native shore and the winding banks of

Erne.

Farewell to every white cascade, from the harbor to Belleek,
And every pool where fins may rest, and ivy-shaded creek :
The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, where ash and holly grow ;
The one split yew-tree gazing on the curving flood below ;
The lough that winds through islands, under Skean Mountain

green ;
The Castle Caldwell's stretching woods, with tranquil bays

between ;
And Breesie Hill and many a pond, among the heath and fern.
For 1 must say, adieu, adieu, to the winding banks of Erne.

The thrush will call through Camlin grove the live long sum-
mer day,

The waters run by mossy cliff and bank with wild flowers
gay :

The girls will bring their work, and sing beneath the twisted
thorn,

Or stray with sweethearts down the path among the growing
corn :

Along the river side they go, where I had often been ;

Oh! never shall I see again the days I once have seen,

A thousand chances are to one I never may return,

Adieu to Ballyshannon, and the winding banks of Erne.

THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL TO BALLYSHANNON.

Continued.

Now measure from the Commons down to each end of the Purt,
From the Red Barn to the Abbey, I wish no one any hurt ;
Search through the streets, and down the Mall and out to

Fortnason,
If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one,
I hope that man and woman kind will do the same with me,
For my head is sore and heavy at voyaging the sea ;
My loving friends I'll bear in mind, and often fondly turn.
To think of Ballyshannon, and the winding banks oi Erne.

Adieu to evening dances, where merry neighbors meet,
And the fiddle says to boys and girls, " Get up and shake your

feet ;"
To Shanachiis and wise old talk of Erin's days gone by,
Who trenched the rath on such a hill, and where the bones do

lie
Of saint, or king, or warrior chief, with tales of fairy power,
And tender ditties sweetly sung, to pass the twilight hour.
The mournful song of exile is now for me to learn ;
Adieu my dear companions on the winding banks of Erne.

If ever Fm a moneyed man, I mean, please God, to cast

My golden anchor in the place where youthful years were

passed,
Though heads that now are black or brown must meanwhile

gather gray ;
New faces rise by every hearth, and old ones pass away.
Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside —
It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and

waters wide ;
And, if the Lord allows me, I surely will return.
To my native Ballyshannon, and the winding banks of Erne.

THE EXILE OF EKIN.

There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ;
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill :
But the day-star attracted his eyes' sad devotion.
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of " Erin go bragh. '*

*' Sad is my fate," said the heart-broken stranger ;

" The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee ;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,

A home and a country remain not to me.
Never again in the green sunny bowers,
Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours.
Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,

And strike to the numbers of ' Erin go bragh.'

Erin, my country, tho' sad and forsaken,

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore,
But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more.
Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me
In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase me?
Never again shall my brothers embrace me!

They died to defend me, or live to deplore !

Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood ?

Sisters and sire, did you weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood?

Where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all?
Oh ! my sad heart ! long abandon'd by pleasure,
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure.
Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure,

But rapture and beauty they cannot recall.

THE EXILE OF BUm.— Continued.

Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing,

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw :
Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing !
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh !
Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean,
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,
Erin, ma vourneen ! Erin go bragh !*

DUBLIN BAY— OK EOY NEILL.

They sailed away, in a gallant bark,

Roy Neill and his fair young bride :
He had ventured all in that bounding ark,

That danced o'er the silvery tide.
But his heart was young, and his spirit light,

And he dashed the tear away,
As he watched the shore recede from sight,

Of his own Sweet Dublin Bay.

Three days they sailed, and a storm arose,

And the lightning swept the deep.
And the thunder-crash broke the short repose

Of the weary sea-boys' sleep.
Roy Neill, he clasped his weeping bride.

And he kissed her tears away —
** Oh ! love, 'twas a fatal hour," she cried,

*' When we left Sweet Dublin Bay ! "

On the crowded deck of the doomed ship

Some stood in their mute despair :
And some, more calm, with a holy lip.

Sought the God of the storm in prayer.
*' She has struck on a rock ! " the seamen cried.

In the breath of their wild dismay —
And the ship went down, and the fair young bride,

That sailed from Dublin Bay !

•Ireland, my darling ! Ireland for ever^

THE MAID OF SWEET GOETEIN.

Come all you gentle muses, combine and lend an ear
Whilst I unfold the praises, of a comely lady fair,
The curling of her yellow locks, that stole away my heart,
And death I'm sure will be the cure, if she and I do part.

The praises of this lovely maid, Pm going to unfold.

Her hair hangs over her shoulders bare, like lovely links

of gold.
With a carriage neat, and limbs complete, which fractured

quite my brain,
Her skin more fairer than the swan, that swims on the parting

stream.

It was my cruel father, that caused all my woe.
He lock'd her in a close room, and woula not let her go,
Her windows I did fairly watch, thinking she might be seen,
In hopes to get another sight of the maid of sweet Gortein,

My father, he came to me, and unto me did say.

Oh ! son, oh ! son, be advised by one, don't throw yourself

away.
To marry a poor servant girl, whose parents are so mean ;
So stay at home, and do not roam, but alone with me remain.

Oh ! father— dearest father, don't part me from my dear,
I would not part my darling girl, for ten thousand pounds a

year.
Was I possessed of William's crown, I would make her my

queen.
In high renown, to wear the crown, with the maid of sweet

Gortein.

My father in a passion flew, and unto me did say.
If that's the case, within this place, no longer she shall stay ;
Mark what I say , from this very day, her face you never shall see,
ril send her to some lonesome place, some place that's far away.

In two or three days after, a horse he did prepare.

He sent my darling far from me, to a place I know not where,

I may go to view my darling's house, where oft times she

has been,
But here in pain, I still remain, for the maid of sweet Gortein.

THE MAID OF SWEET QOnTBm.—Cojitinued.

Now to conclude and make an end, I'll take my pen in hand,
John O'Brien is my name, and flowery is my land ;
My days are spent in merriment, since my darling I 've first seen,
But her abode was near the road, in a place call'd sweet
Gortein.

-o-

KATHLEEN O'MOKE.

My love, still I think that I see her once more :
But, alas ! she has left me her loss to deplore,
My own little Kathleen, my poor lost Kathleen,

My Kathleen O^More.

Her hair glossy black, her eyes were dark blue,
Her color still changing, her smiles ever new :
So pretty was Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen,

My Kathleen O'More.

She milked the dun cow that ne'er offered to stir,

Though wicked to others, it was gentle to her ;

So kind was my Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,

My Kathleen O'More.

She sat by the door, one cold afternoon.

To hear the wind blow, and look at the moon.

So pensive was Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,

My Kathleen O'More.

Oh ! cold was the night breeze that sighed round her bower,
It chilled my poor Kathleen, she drooped from that hour.
And I lost my poor Kathleen, my dear little Kathleen,

My Kathleen O'More.

The bird of all birds that I love the best,
Is the robin that in the church-yard builds its nest :
For, he seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly on Kathleen,

My Kathleen O'More.

THE STAR OF SLANE.

You brilliant muses, who ne'er refuses,

But still infuses in the poet's mind,
Your kind sweet favors to his poor endeavors,

If his ardent labors but appear subHme.
Preserve my study from getting mudd}^

My ideas ready to inspire my brain,
My quill refine whilst I write these lines.

On a nymph divine, called the Star of Slane.

In beautious spring, when the warblers sing,

And their music rings thro' each silent grove,
Bright Sol did shine which did me incline,

By the river Boyne for to go to rove.
I was contemplating and meditating.

And ruminating as I paced the plain ;
When a charming fair one beyond compare,

Did my heart ensnare, near the town of Slane.

Had Paris seen this young maid serene.

The Grecian Queen he would soon disdain.
And straight embrace this virgin chaste.

And peace would grace the Trojan plain.
If great Julius Caesar would on her gaze, sir,

He'd stand amazed for to view the dame.
Sweet Cleopather he would freely part her,

And his crown he'd barter for the Star of Slane.

To praise her beauty, it is my duty.

But alas, I'mfooty in this noble part.
And to my sorrow, sly Cupid's arrow

Full deep did burrow in my tender heart.
In pain and trouble, I still will struggle,

Tho' sadly hobbled by my stupid brain.
Yet backed by nature, I will tell the features

Of this lovely creature, called the Star of Slane.

Her eyes, 'tis true, are an azure blue.
And her cheeks, the hue of the crimson rose ;

Her hair, behold, does shine like gold,
In fine flowing rolls it so nicely grows.

67
THE STAK OF SJj A:NE.— Continued,

Her skin as white, as the snow by night,
Straight and upright is her portly frame,

The chaste Diana, or fair Susanna,

Are eclipsed in grandeur by the Star of Slane.

Her name to mention, might cause contention.

And its my intention for to breed no strife,
But for to woo her, as I'm but pooer.

Really I'm sure she won't be my wife;
In silent anguish 1 here must languish,

Till time does banish my love-sick pain.
And my humble station 1 must bear with patience.

Since great exaltation suits the Star of Slane.

-o-

MATILDE HEKON'S CELTIC SONG.

Come to me, darling, I'm lonely without thee.
Come in the twilight when day's gone to rest ;
No rude eye shall witness me twining about thee,
As fondly I pillow thy head on my breast.

Then come to me, darling, nor doubt I am true :
For, my heart is but happy while thinking of you.

Come in the midnight, that procreant hour
When soul blends with soul in love's starlight bower:
When linked in long sweetness of exquisite bliss,
We murmur : good- night ! in a sweet, silent kiss.

Then come to me, darling, nor doubt I am true :
For, my heart is but happy while thinking of you.

Come in the twilight, or midnight, or day :
It's only my darkness when thou art away —
Then come to me, sweetheart, I languish, I pine
For one little smile to say : " Yes, I am thine ! "
Then come to me, darling, nor doubt I am true:
For, my heart is but happy while thinking of you.

THE BOYNE WATER.

July the first, of a morning clear, one thousand six hundred

and ninety,
King William did his men prepare, of thousands he had thirty ;
To fight King James and all his foes, encamped near the

Boyne Water,
He fittle feared, though two to one, their multitudes to scatter.

King William called his officers; saying, "Gentlemen, mind

your station,
And let your valor here be shown, before this Irish nation ;
My brazen walls let no man break, and your subtle foes

you'll scatter.
Be sure you show them good English play, as you go over
the water.**

* -x- * * * *

Both foot and horse they marched on, intending them to

batter,
But the brave Duke Schomberg he was shot as he crossed

over the water.
When that King William he observ'd the brave Duke

Schomberg falling.
He rein'd his horse, with a heavy heart, on the Enniskil-

leners calling ;

"What will you do for me, brave boys, see yonder men re-
treating,

Our enemies encouraged are — and English drums are beat-
ing;"

He says, ** My boys, feel no dismay at the losing of one
commander.

For God shall be our King this day, and I'll be general
under."

********

Within four yards of our fore-front, before a shot was fired,
A sudden snuff they got that day, which little they desired ;
For horse and man fell to the ground, and some hung in

their saddles,
Others turn'd up their forked ends, which we call coup de

ladle.

THE BOYNE ^ AJl-EK.— Continued.

Prince Eugene's regiment was the next, on our right hand

advanced,
Into a field of standing wheat, where Irish horses pranced —
But the brandy ran so in their heads, their senses all did

scatter.
They little thought to leave their bones that day at the

Boyne Water.

I LOVE MY LOVE IN THE MOKNING.

Gekald Gbiffin.

I LOVE my love in the morning

For she like morn is fair, —
Her blushing cheek, its crimson streak.

Its clouds, her golden hair.
Her glance, its beam, so soft and kind ;

Her tears, its dewy showers ;
And her voice, the tender whispering wind

That stirs the early bowers.

I love my love in the morning,

I love my love at noon,
For she is bright, as the lord of light,

Yet mild as autumn's moon :
Her beauty is my bosom's sun,

Her faith my fostering shade.
And I will love my darling one,

Till even the sun shall fade.

I love my love in the morning,

I love my love at even ;
Her smile's soft play is like the ray,

That lights the western heaven :
I loved her when the sun was high,

I loved her when he rose ;
But, best of all when evening's sigh

Was murmuring at its close.

THE BANKS OF CLODY.

Down by the banks of Clody I heard a maid complain,
Making sad lamentations for her false-hearted swain ;
She says, *' I'm deeply wounded, bound in the chain of love.
By a false-hearted young man who does inconstant prove. ''
I straightway stepped up to her, and put her in surprise ;
1 own she did not know me, I being in disguise.
I said, *' My dearest jewel, my joy, and heart's delight.
How far have you to travel this dark and rainy night? "

Said she, " 'Tis too much freedom for to accost me so,
But as you have heard my secret, I'll also let you know —
I seek a faithless young man — young Johnny is his name-
And its on the banks of Clody I'm told he does remain."
'' But don't depend on Johnny, he is a false young man ;
Do not depend on Johnny, he will not meet you here;
But come with me to Green wood, no danger need you fear."

*' If Johnny he was here to night, he'd keep me from all harm ;
He's in the field of battle all in his uniform.
He's in the field of battle, and his foes he does defy.
Like the rolling king of honor, going to the wars of Troy.
Bould Sarsfield was not braver when Erin he did guard,
And when the war is over, his king will him reward ;
He's crossing the main ocean for honor and for fame."
*' No, no, fair maid, his ship was wrecked going by the coast
of Spain."

When she heard that dreadful news she fell into despair,
A wringing of her hands, and a tearing of her hair ;
♦♦ Since Johnny he is drowned, no man alive I'll take,
Through woods and lonesome valleys I'll wander for his sake."
So when he saw her loyalty, he could no longer stand.
He flew unto her arms, saying, " Bessy, I'm the man ;
Bessy, I'm the young man — the cause of all your pain,
And since we met on Clody's banks, we'll never part again."

71
SHAN VAN VOGHT.

Oh, I'm told that Anglesea,*

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

Oh, Tm told that Anglesea,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

Oh, I'm told that Anglesea,

In the House of Lords one day,

Said the Papists he would slay,

Savs the Shan Van Voght.

But faith, at Waterloo

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

But faith, at Waterloo,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

But faith, at Waterloo,

He'd have looked very blue,

Hadn't Paddy been there too,t

Says the Shan Van Voght

Yet, if he needs must fight,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

Yet, if he needs must fight,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

Yet, if he needs must fight,

Oh, he's always in the right

To keep Erin in his sight,

Says the Shan Van Voght.

For Pat is fond of fun,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

For Pat is fond of fun,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

For Pat is fond of fun,

And was never known to run

From cannon, sword, or gun,

Says the Shan Van Voght.

* The Marquis of Anglesea, Pronounced by the ballad-singers Amj-gla-say.

t This was suggested by a passage in a speech of Daniel O'Connell's at that
time wherein he said that the Duke of Wellington kept all his objections against
the Irish for his place in Parliament ; but that he had no objection to them on
the field of Waterloo.

SHAN VAN YOGRT.— Continued.

And though Rock, alas, is gone,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

And though Rock, alas, is gone,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;

And though Rock, alas, is gone ,

rU hold you ten to one

He'd be with us here anon,

Says the Shan Van Voght.

But no Hussar* we'll see,

Says the Shan Van Voght ;
But no Hussar we'll see.

Says the Shan Van Voght ;
But no Hussar we'll see
For old Erin shall be free.
And " So help me God " says she.

The Shan Van Voght.

HE TELLS ME HE LOVES ME.

He tells me he loves me, and can I believe,
The heart he has won, he would wish to deceive ?
For ever and always, his sweet words to me
Are Aileen, mavourneen, acushlamacree !

Last night when we parted, his gentle good-bye
A thousand times said, and each time with a sigh.
And still the same sweet words he whispers to me.
My Aileen, mavourneen, acushlamacree !

The friend of my childhood, the hope of my youth,
Whose heart is all pure and whose words are all truth !
Oh, still the same sweet words he whispers to me,
Are Aileen, mavourneen, acushlamacree !

Oh ! when will the day come, the dear happy day,
That a maiden may hear all a lover can say,
And he speaks out the words he now whispers to me.
My Aileen, mavourneen, acushlamacree !

*"rhe Marquis of Anglesea, it may be remembered, was famous as a Hussar
officer ; or, I ehould rather say, it can never he forgotten.

PEGGY BAWN.

As I wandered o'er the Highland hills, to a farmer's house I

came,
The night being dark and very wet, I ventured into the same ;
There I was kindly treated, and a pretty lass I espied,
Who asked me if I had a wife, but marriage I then denied.

There we conversed the live long night until near the dawn

of day,
When frankly she said to me, 'Tis along with you I'll gae ;
For Ireland is a fine country, and the Scots unto you are kin ;
So I'll e'en gae along with you my fortune for to begin.

The morn been come and breakfast o'er, to the parlor I was

ta'en.
Where the old man asked of me if I'd marry his daughter

Jane ;
Five hundred marks I'll gie to her, besides a good piece of

land.
But scarcely had he spoke these words when I thought of my

Peggy Bawn.

Your offer, sir, is very good, and I thank you too, said I ;

But I cannot be your son-in-law, and I'll tell you the reason
why :

In my own country there is a maid, who is constant to me
and kind.

My very heart lies in her breast, she's the fairest of woman-
kind.

Oh, Peggy Bawn, you are my dear, and my heart lies with-
in your breast ;

And although you at a distance are, yet I love you ten times
the best ;

Although you at a distance are, and the seas do between us
roar,

Yet constant, dear Peggy Bawn, I'll be, now and for ever
more !

74
LOUGH ERNE'S SHOEE.

It was on a summer's day, as carelessly I strayed,

And straight I took my way down by Lough Erne's shore,

To meet a comely maid, who has my heart betrayed,
Her beauty has betrayed me, none else can I adore.

She's the fairest of all creatures, beautiful in features,
Her sweet and mild behavior has enchanted me;

You muses now assist me to ease my longing wishes,
And petition Cupid that he may set her free.

I'll make no declaration of my inclination.

There is no one in my station, either rich or poor,

Better could maintain her, if 1 could but gain her,
So love, do not disdain me, acushla gal astore.

I always will endeavor by my daily labor.

With kind and mild behavior I'll ever you adore ;

Acres I have had waiting, for you my lovely creature,

And valleys deck'd by nature, down by Lough Erne's shore.

Sweet, charming, lovely Molly, pity your dear Johnny,
Who daily doats upon you, astoreen gal machree ;

Each night as I slumber, of you, my dear, 1 ponder,
I wake in greatest wonder, and think your face I see.

Not riches I admire, but you, my heart's desire,

And all I do require is love and loyalty !
Grant me this, astore, and I will ask no more,

Down by Lough Erne's shore, my bride you shall be.

I am now craving, and I am always raving,

So readers, now excuse me what here 1 have said ;

I never will disdain him that adores a female —

Sweet, charming, lovely Molly has my heart betray'd.

Farewell, Lough Erne's shore — adieu for evermore !

For to some distant shore I'll go and spend my days.
It grieves me to the heart, from Lough Erne's shore to part.

Where fishes do divert, as they do sport and play.

LOUGH EENE'S SHOEE.— Cow^m?^.

My love from me is gone, and Til end my days,

I'll rove from town to town, some pleasure for to see ;

Since Molly's proved unkind, and will not change her mind,
Some other maid TU find, to roam along with me.

ril go to the fair of Castlefrench, to meet a comely wench,
rll treat her to punch, and with her I'll agree,

And as I go along, it shall be my constant song,
Charming lovely Molly, you have wounded me.

COME TO ME, DAELING, I'M LONELY WITHOUT THEE.

By Joseph Bbennan.

Come to me, darling, I'm lonely without thee.
Day-time and night-time I'm dreaming about thee :
Night-time and day-time in dreams I behold thee.
Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee —
Come to me darling, my sorrows to lighten,
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten :
Come in thy womanhood meekly 'and lowly,
Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.

You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened :
Dear, are you sad to hear I am saddened ?
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, or rhyme unto rhyme, love ;
I cannot smile, but your cheek will be glowing:
You cannot weep, but my tears will be flowing :
You will not linger when I shall have died, love:
I could not live without you by my side, love.

Come to me, darling, ere I die of my sorrow.
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow :
Strong, swift and sweet, as the words which I speak, love.
With a song on your lip, and a smile on your cheek, love ;
Come — for my heart in your absence is dreary :
Haste — for my spirit is sickened and weary :
Come to the arms which alone can caress thee.
Come to the heart which is throbbing to press thee.

BKENNAN ON THE MOOK.

It's of a famous highwayman a story I will tell ;
His name was Willy Brennan, in Ireland he did dwell ;
And on the Kilworth mountains he commenced his wild career,
Where many a wealthy gentleman before him shook with fear.

Chorus :

Brennan on the Moor, Brennan on the Moor,

Bold and undaunted, stood young Brennan on the Moor.

A brace of loaded pistols he carried night and day ;
He never robbed a poor man upon the king's highway ;
But what he'd taken from the rich, like Turpin and black Bess,
He always did divide it with the widow in distress.